The Nightmare Gambit
by RealGhostbuster1984
Summary: After trapping a seemingly ordinary demon, the Ghostbusters find themselves plagued by vivid and bizarre nightmares. Can they neutralise the cause before the nightmares start to have an irreversible effect?
1. The Swish of the Axe

**Chapter 1: The Swish of the Axe**

On a muggy June night in Uptown Manhattan, the air was uncommonly still. In a less busy part of the area, the usual sounds of traffic echoed from distant corners, a sound that formed a vital part of the mosaic of New York life. One particular street corner found a young man buying a hot dog from a stand, his reward after working late. He was about to raise it gratefully to his mouth when a most unusual sound distracted him. It was a high-pitched, alien laugh that seemed to get closer. This sound was followed by a much less foreign sound, the din of a siren. The young city slicker turned around just in time to see a bizarre, animalistic creature burst around the corner, flying with impressive speed fifteen feet above the ground, before racing down the next street. Seconds later, a 1959 Cadillac Miller-Meteor screeched at tyre-burning speed around the kerb and thundered after the apparition, engine screaming. The yuppie turned back to look at the hot dog vendor open-mouthed. "What the..."

"Ah, you must be new around town," said the salesman, in the tones of someone who had seen it all. "They're the Ghostbusters. You'll get used to seeing them pretty soon." He then busied himself with preparing sausages as the younger man walked away, shaking his head. "Yep, looks like business as usual for them..."

_Inside Ecto-1..._

"Left...right...left!"

Egon Spengler's frenzied directions rang out, followed each time by another lurid lurch as Winston Zeddemore hurled Ecto-1 around corner after corner. The winding curves of New York's streets loomed thick and fast, so that Egon's directions sounded increasingly like the bellows of a drill sergeant leading his troops on parade. The next minute though, they emerged onto a main street, leaving a clear shot at the cackling blue-pink Class 5 demon they were chasing.

"OK," said Raymond Stantz, studying the display for the roof-mounted proton cannon in front of him and gripping the joystick with one hand. "We've got him!" He squeezed the trigger and a searing volley of protons flashed away from a point a few feet above Ray's head. The young technician's aim was good, but the ghost was better. A swish to the right and the stream missed him by a foot. Ray kept his finger down, but the spectre was simply too nimble as the proton stream lashed uselessly at the night air.

"Just like Space Invaders, eh, Ray?" cracked Peter, mocking a remark the younger Ghostbuster had made a minute earlier.

"_Bwah-hah-hah-hah_!" laughed the ghost as he turned around in mid-air. Suddenly, he swooped down and into the ground, still maintaining his speed, laying an ominous trail of slime. "Whoa!" shouted Winston as he swerved to avoid the spectral slick. He spun the steering wheel but it was too late...

"That's cheating!" yelled Peter as Ecto-1 spun through three-sixty degrees before drunkenly lurching onto the kerb, sending several pedestrians and a cyclist scattering as they jumped or skidded for their lives. Winston quickly got the machine under control but Bluey had pulled away.

"Hey...that trick's only cool when James Bond does it," grumbled the African-American.

Up ahead, their quarry was chuckling in satisfaction when a sudden rumble and a blaring horn alerted him to a new danger. Spinning around, Bluey saw a ten-wheel Mack truck thundering right at him. "GAH!" The ghost yelled in horror and pulled up, but the giant vehicle clipped him as it rolled imperiously past. Bluey was hurled through the air, all control over his ectoplasmic body lost, before cannoning into a cluster of large rubbish bins. Behind, Egon detected the disruption on Ecto-1'S PKE meter. "He's stopped!"

"But why?" said Ray a second before the ten-wheeled titan stormed by on the opposite lane. Noticing the vehicle, he added, "Say, you don't think?"

"...the guy just put up an entry for _America's Funniest Ectoplasmic Accidents?_" finished Peter. "Nah..."

"No, look. There!" Egon leant forward and pointed. The Class 5 was recovering to his feet at the side of the road. "Stop the car, Winston. This is our chance!" Winston half-spun Ecto to a halt and the foursome disembarked quickly, donning their proton packs just as Bluey took flight again.

"Alright, Bluey Boy, we can do this the hard way, or the really hard way," shouted Peter, switching on. The other three followed suit and the packs clicked and hummed with energy. "Your choice."

The demon laughed, each cackle filled with haughty derision. "Just try me, Ghostbusters. Take your best shot!" The Ghostbusters opened fire. Bluey jumped clear and the four green-and-blue proton beams slammed into the brick wall behind them. Their target dived at them, opened his mouth, and let hurl with a stream of gas, which enveloped the four men. Immediately they fell about coughing and spluttering.

"G-gas!" Ray grabbed his throat and retched, and it was then that he saw it. Out of nowhere, an image of an imposing yellow-green skinned demon hove into his vision. In a moment, the mystery demon smiled with malice, turned, pulled a lever on something and...then, the vision was gone. It had lasted all of three seconds.

"GOT HIM!" Winston's voice jerked Ray out of his reverie. Winston had scored a bullseye, capturing Bluey as he flew off and away from the scene. "Quick, he's breaking away!" His throat burning, Ray hoisted himself to his feet and joined his confinement stream to Winston's. A few seconds later Peter and Egon had recovered and now all four streams were on their enemy.

"No!" he shouted as he writhed uselessly in the streams. "Let me go or you'll pay the price!"

Egon wheeled out the trap and stepped on the release pedal. The striped doors snapped open and wavy white lines of ghost-attracting particles flew into the air, snaring Bluey and sucking him into the trap. The doors snapped shut, cutting off the demon's final yell of rage and sealing him in.

"Whew," Winston exhaled deeply, perching his thrower against his right shoulder and wiping his brow with the other hand. "It was a hairy ride, but looks like we've won," he commented with some relief. Peter raised an eyebrow.

"Hairy ride, you say...Well it wasn't *me* who was driving," said the psychologist. "Sometimes you scare even me, Winston."

Egon picked up the full trap, which sparked ominously in his hand. "It's best we get this into storage right away,"

"OK, Egon," replied Ray. "Let's head for home..." They all got into Ecto-1, leaving a tangle of upended trash cans and a seared and blackened brick wall as the only reminder of their little battle.

In the Firehouse's expanded basement, Egon slotted the smoking ghost trap into the folding slot on the front of the Ecto-Containment Unit. He paused to suppress a yawn before folding the mechanism shut.

"Tired, Egon? Working too hard again, eh?" asked Peter, leaning casually against the side of the unit.

"Ghostbusting always marches on, Peter," Egon replied curtly as he primed the trap. "Much like any other science."

"Ghostbusting, a science? Ah," Peter hesitated. "I won't touch that one." Egon pulled the lever and the ghost was sucked into the innards of the powerful prison chamber with a satisfying whooshing sound.

"Everyone still OK after that gas attack?" asked Ray, who had been checking one of the displays on the ECU's control panel.

"I'm fine," Egon answered. "And that's the second time you've asked. Are you worrying about something, Raymond?"

"Not really. It's just that...during the attack, I had a weird vision."

Egon cocked an eyebrow. "Go on?" Ray told the two about what he had seen, and they listened intently.

"Very interesting, Ray," Egon mused, after a brief pause. "It could have been a simple reaction to the gas he used on us. Certain stimuli can trigger reactions, even intense ones." Egon, however, did not sound entirely convinced of what he was saying.

"Don't worry, Ray," added Peter. "The gooper's safely locked up. He's not gonna be bothering anyone else for a long time."

"Well, I guess so. I just thought I'd tell you guys, that's all."

Egon nodded. "You were right to tell us, Ray. However, I think a better course of action would be to get some sleep. You too, Peter."

Ray turned and made for the stairs. Peter followed him for all of three feet before turning back to Egon. "Ahem, I think someone is not following his own advice."

"I just have some things to do in the workshop in here. I'll be up a little later."

"Have it your way, Spengs, but I warn ya, overwork stress isn't nice."

"Strange, Peter. I would have thought that would be something you would be most unfamiliar with." Egon's blue eyes twinkled, the master scientist's substitute for smiling.

"And you would be right. Sweet dreams, you boy genius you." Peter shuffled up the metal stairs sleepily and made for bed. The lights in the main area were out, Janine having long since finished and Winston having seemingly already gone to bed. Two more flights of stairs and Peter reached the master bedroom, where he then heard –

"SLIMER!"

Peter immediately saw what was wrong. Ray was holding a comic, a comic which had slime of a familiar green shade dripping from it. Two seconds later, Slimer, their pet ghost, materialised and immediately started blabbering apologies. "Mee sowwy Way, mee like gommics gooood, didna wanna sliiimey..."

"How could you Slimer, how could you? An authentic Silver Age Commodore Chaos special and you _slimed _it. Bad ghost!" Ray was clearly very upset.

Peter approached Ray. "Oh, he can't help it," he mocked, imitating Ray's nasal tones. "He's just a ghost, he doesn't know what he's doing, blah, blah, blah,"

"_Peter," _Ray said in a warning tone.

Peter pointed a finger at Ray. "Now you see how I feel every time he slimes my bed. Every time he scoffs my watermelon. Every time I pull my boots on and find slime in them," the brown-haired man declared, voice rising in tone dramatically. Then he stepped forward and laid a hand on Ray's shoulder. "Come on, Ray. Join forces with me against the menace and you never need read a slimy comic ever again."

Ray sighed. "Oh, Peter, but he doesn't really understand. He's not like us."

"Same old line," Peter grumbled, turning to his own bed. Ray turned to Slimer.

"All right, Slimer, I'll forgive you, on one condition," He beckoned with his finger, telling Slimer to come closer. "You tell me where Peter usually keeps his imported Belgian chocolates." he enquired stealthily.

"Oh, plotting something, are we, Stantz?" interjected Peter, turning back to the pair. "I'm hurt. I offer you to join me, and you join forces with him instead. So, what is it?"

"You're tired, Peter. Go to bed."

"Oh, I'll go to bed alright. And carry a thrower under my pillow." Peter removed his jumpsuit and sat down on the bed. "I've always known there was a dirty, devious mind behind that boyish exterior of yours." he drawled, clicking his fingers and pointing at Ray. He rolled beneath the covers and was soon asleep.

BRRRRIINNNGGGGG!

The piercing trill of the alarm sent all four Ghostbusters leaping out of bed. They pulled on their jumpsuits before sliding down the pole and assembling before Janine at her desk.

"Rise and shine, guys," said the secretary crisply. "Trouble on the Upper East Side. I got the address." She ripped off the sheet on which she had scribbled what little details there were and gave it to Ray.

"Thanks, Janine. Let's roll." Seconds later they were on their way, speeding along the streets of Manhattan at a fair clip, though nowhere near as fast as the previous night.

"Can't believe it's morning already," said Peter, stretching and yawning at the same time. "There should a law against working at this hour."

"There's a multi-tasker if I ever saw one," said Winston, jerking his thumb back at Peter. "He can yawn, stretch _and _complain at the same time. Anyway, what've got this time?"

Ray looked at the scrap of paper in his hand. "Disturbance at 57 Normandy Street. Seems a bunch of ghosts, possibly poltergeists, though no-one's sure, flew out of the nearby forest and trashed a family barbecue. They fear some of them have gone to ground in the houses themselves and are waiting to attack."

Peter didn't look too enthused. "Well, I guess that's –Wait, hold up there. A forest? On the Upper East Side?"

"Yeah, of course, Pete," replied Winston. "There's always been a forest there. You know? Where those two students were found murdered last week?"

"What!?" Peter looked aghast. "And Janine forgot to mention them?"

"Well, I very much doubt those two students were wearing proton packs, Peter," Egon said. "So I suggest you calm yourself."

"Yeah, but, still, a forest in Manhattan?" he said, confused.

Winston was unimpressed. "You don't know about it? Man, and you call yourself a real New Yorker."

He swung Ecto deftly around a couple of more corners, and the houses started to take on a more regal, expensive look. They were clearly in the most expensive part of town. Soon, after a while, the street came to an end, and asphalt gave way to grass. Beyond the grass lay the forest. It looked forbidding, giant oaks standing firm, clustered together, arranged in such a matter as to give the impression of a mouth, leading into the bowels of some terrible monster.

"OK, this is it, 57 Normandy Street," announced Ray. The foursome disembarked and began to unload their equipment. They paused to take in the sight of the largest house, which was built out of chalk-white stone. The architecture bore a distinctly Gallic touch, to match the street's name. A short flight of steps led up to the heavy, patterned wooden door, which had a suitably large iron knocker on the front.

"Can't wait to head on in. Definitely no problems getting a decent fee," spoke Peter, his spirits raising.

Egon adjusted his glasses. "No, Peter, you won't be going in. You'll be taking the forest."

Peter stared at the forest entrance in near-horror. "Me? In there? All alone? Oh noooo," he sang. "Not for all the pizza in Italy."

"C'mon, Pete m'man, you're not scared, are you?" asked Winston. "The great Peter Venkman, scared?"

"No, I'm not, Winston," shot back Peter, a definite edge to his voice. "But remember, two students were murdered in there last week!"

Winston placed a hand on Peter's shoulder. "Hey, shit happens."

Peter, almost without thinking, removed Winston's hand from his shoulder. It was very unlike Winston, who had seen his share of innocent lives wiped out in Vietnam, to be so blasé about such occurrences.

"Don't forget your proton pack, Peter," said Ray, handing his colleague his backpack and thrower. "I've tuned it up good, so you'll have no problem battling the horrors of the forest."

Peter looked like Ray had just handed him a slimed Captain Steel comic. "Yes, Ray, I feel *so* confident now."

"Okay, Peter." said Egon. "If you need us, we'll be in the house. Be careful." With those words, he and the other two turned heel and walked up the steps to the front door. Peter gulped and started to march towards the forest opening. Reaching it, he gulped again as he realised how dark the inside of the forest looked. Passing under the edge of canopy, it suddenly felt like the air temperature had dropped several degrees. He drew his thrower and powered it up. The rising hum of the cyclotron sounded five times louder in the still of the forest. Treading forward, keeping his footfalls as quiet as possible, Venkman had to strain his eyes slightly as the darkness threatened to blank everything out. A few seconds later he decided to use the flashlight instead. Normally the Ghostbusters wouldn't use it in such a situation, so as not to alert any ghosts, but as Peter figured there was no Egon around to chide him for it, he thought he might as well switch it on. However, the artificial light only served to expose Venkman as to how alien and creepy the dark oak trees that dwarfed him on each side looked._ The nerve of those guys, _said Peter's inner voice, _sending me in here while they check out the high life. If there's a God, he sure has it in for Peter Venkman today. _

Three minutes later, a sudden wind brushed against Peter's face. Raising his thrower, he looked around for a potential source, but saw nothing. The wind intensified and now it seemed to be coming from all directions. Then Peter heard something that made him freeze. There was a voice, an unearthly, horrible voice, that seemed to be carrying on the wind.

"_Peeeter Venkmannnnnn..."_

It felt to Peter like liquid nitrogen was filling his insides. He moved to power up his thrower, then realised he had already done so. _Get a grip on yourself, Peter, no use losing your shit now..._

"_PEEETERRRR VENKMANNNN..."_

Then all of a sudden, it stopped. The wind slackened off, the voice was silenced. Peter, however, had had enough.

"Alright, spooks, show yourselves! You don't mess around with Mama Venkman's kid like that and get to tell the neighbours about it!"

A hellish, feral rumble sounded from Peter's right. The psychologist turned and gasped in horror. The tree nearest him was mutating, coming alive. The wrinkles and knots in the ancient oak were forming into a ghoulish faceand it was growling, sounding like a lion's roar that was being played back at too slow a speed. Then all of the trees came alive and Venkman was surrounded on all sides by the giant demonic oaks.

"This is it!" Peter squeezed the trigger of his thrower – and nothing happened except that feeble sparks issued half-heartedly from the end of the proton rifle. Then the trees closed in on him, their faces contorted in evil grins, their branches turned to thrashing tentacles. Peter's fear was suddenly overtaken by sadness. He was going to die, he just knew it, he would never see any of his friends again...Egon...Ray...Winston...even Slimer...

"YAAAGGHH!" A branch had wrapped around Peter's lower right leg and was hoisting him high, high into the air. Venkman felt his stomach lurch as gravity attempted, to no avail, to send him plummeting back to the ground. For a minute it held him there, and Peter was aware of all of the tree-demons hissing and seething at him, wanting to get a bite of the intruder. The next second and the Ghostbuster was thrown high, high into the ground. Peter screamed as he began to fall back to Earth, he fell, fell, and fell...and then he slammed into the ground ...

Wait, he wasn't dead. Peter opened his eyes. He appeared to be in some sort of courtroom. The judges' stand stood in front of him, tall and forbidding, but Peter could not see the judge in the darkness. Either side of him, rows of benches could be seen, but he could not make out any of the occupants. He then became aware that his hands were bound behind his back, and that his head was resting on a block. An executioner's block. And the executioner was standing a foot away, his head covered by the traditional shroud.

"PETER VENKMAN!" bellowed a booming, imperious voice from the judge's position. "You are here for the heinous crime of conspiring to wrongfully capture and imprison esteemed members of the spirit community. How do you plead?"

Peter couldn't believe this. _How did I get here? Was this a trap? Have the others been captured too?_

"Not guilty!"

A snide peal of laughter broke out from the gallery. Peter could now see that the benches were occupied by a ghastly phalanx of minor spirits – all turned out to see the Ghostbuster in front of the kangaroo court.

"WRONG ANSWER!" bellowed the invisible judge. "Peter Venkman, I sentence you...to termination with EXTREME prejudice!"

"No!" Peter's shout of protest was of no use. The executioner drew his axe and raised it high into the air.

"Three," boomed the judge, "two...one..."

Peter Venkman screamed. It was the last thing he uttered before the sharp axe swished down and took his head clean off.

"Done in one chop, Your Dishonour, sir!" declared the executioner, holding the blood-stained axe in one hand.

"Well done, Dr. Stantz. You have done fine work."

Peter's head stirred. _Oh my God. Oh my God! I'm still alive and...no! That's my body up there! And...Dr. Stantz..._

The executioner removed his shroud to reveal...Ray. "Yes, Your Dishonour, it was pretty fine, wasn't it?" Ray sneered down at his former friend's dying and disembodied head.

"It was a good idea of you to sabotage Dr. Venkman's proton pack!" thundered the judge. "And arrange a fake call! Brilliant work. You have a bright future in front of you, Raymond Stantz. Now...for the others!"

Peter groaned in misery as the last stirrings of life left him. _No...no...NO..._

Umpteen billion light years away, Peter Venkman awoke with a start and sat bolt upright in his bed, the last horrible images playing across his vision.


	2. Through the Window

Looks like it's fanfic necromancy time. Apologies I've left this so bloody long, but other things sort of got away in the meantime. Anyway, I'm quite keen to get this story going again, so here's chapter two...

Chapter 2: Through the Window

Almost on autopilot, Peter Venkman shuffled into the kitchen, his brain racing at breakneck speeds, fear and shock still filling his stomach. _What the hell...what the hell...what the hell..._

_Get a grip on yourself, Pete,_ he said to himself. _It was just a dream._

Yes, it had been a dream...but it had felt so real. People said that all the time about dreams, that they seemed real, that they had really believed they had been living those events, but Peter's dream had been one step beyond. As he opened the door to the fridge, he remembered the raw fear that had clenched his insides, the puzzlement he had felt at his friend's nonchalant demeanour, and worst of all, the horrible bile of betrayal that had flooded him upon seeing the true identity of his executioner.

_Would-be executioner,_ reminded Peter to himself. _It didn't happen, remember?_

The physical sensations had been oddly real, as well. The iron grip he had maintained on his particle thrower. The harsh grip on the tree-tentacle on his leg, and the roller-coaster ride of being thrown into the air. And oh, God...the slash of the axe through his neck. Okay, so Peter had no real-life experience to compare that one to, but...

"Peter, Peter, take it easy..." He drew out a bottle of orange juice and sloshed some into a glass. After closing the fridge and adding some water, he decided to head for the TV, figuring that there was no way he would get back to sleep. He checked the clock. Half past twelve. He obviously hadn't been asleep for long.

He switched on the television set and grabbed the remote. Settling himself down, he began to flick through the channels. Maybe there was a good movie or a funny comedy he could watch to take his mind off things. Various programs flashed before his eyes as he channel-hopped.

An infomercial, depicting a man standing before a kitchen worktop. _"Fully authorised and certified by the Best Products Ever Commission, the Super Duper Super Slicer will cut through ANYTHING..."_

"Yeah, right. Let's see if it'll cut you out of jail after you get busted, loser." He hit the remote again.

"_50 laps of 75 completed, it's Andretti still leading from Unser Jnr..."_

"Maybe we should hire one of these guys, they'd drive safer than Winston," mumbled Peter. He changed again. Now on the screen was a heavyset man in a grey suit, sitting at a desk with a large cross behind him.

"_...all of us who consider ourselves true Americans must prepare to fight the vile wave of immorality that will be unleashed by the antichrist Clinton..."_ he was intoning in a thick Texan drawl. _"The heathen insanity of our modern secular culture will be exposed..."_

"Say, this guy's actually pretty funny," said Peter, cheering up a bit. He watched the evangelist rail and froth for a few more minutes before he became bored and continued flicking. After a while, his eyelids grew heavy and he felt tiredness start to overtake him again.

A cheesy, melodramatic announcer was now heard. _"...tune in tomorrow for more America's Funniest Police Chases!"_

Next channel showed a morbidly obese man with straggly hair beneath a tinfoil hat in a darkened room. _"Think about it. Are you from North Dakota? Do you know anyone from North Dakota? Have you been to North Dakota? If the answer to any of these is 'yes', then you are part of the conspiracy, sucker."_

Next up was a political debate. _"Your momma's so fat, she fell into the Grand Canyon and got stuck!"_ one senator was shouting at another. _"Your momma's so old, I told her to act her age and she died!" _the other fired back.

Peter yawned. "Psychic possession, or modern political debating? I'll guess the latter." He flicked again.

It seemed that Peter had gone around in a circle, as the evangelist was on again. _"...join us again tomorrow, when we demonstrate once and for all that the Gregorian calendar is the tool of Satan. And now, preparing for the Rapture..."_

"Rapture, schmapture," said Peter. "We should set Gozer and this guy up on a date sometime, they'd get on real well." He flicked again, and now a movie starring Arnold Schwarzenegger was on.

"Hey, this looks good..." Venkman said. So, he sat and watched Arnie slaughter and wisecrack his way through some bad guy's private army, shooting and fighting...until the film was over...Then a loud, stentorian voice from the TV suddenly roused Peter from the torpor he'd been slipping into.

"_COURT TV brings to you...the trial of the century! We go directly to the courthouse where Peter Venkman, Ghostbuster extraordinaire, awaits his long-overdue judgement!"_

"Huh!?" Peter's eyes went wide and his heart turned to stone as the picture showed him….head on block, executioner ready with axe….it was just like in his dream!

"_Not guilty,"_ he heard himself say. Peter felt his insides ice up and dissolve as the mocking crackles of the "jury" heralded his judgement.

"_WRONG ANSWER!"_

No...no...Peter scrunched his eyes shut, but the gruesome images slipped through somehow. The executioner...Ray...his friend Ray...raising his axe...bringing it down...

"NOOOOOO!"

Peter snapped awake. He blinked five times in rapid succession, gasping for breath as he did so. He was still on the couch, and the TV was still on in front of him, now showing the end credits….presumably to the Schwarzenegger film he'd been watching earlier.

He had fallen asleep again. And fallen straight back into the nightmare.

Peter shook his head. He wasn't sure he could take any more of this. He resigned himself to the fact that there'd be no sleep for him this night, so he decided he'd go out and take a little late night walk. He could ask Egon for something to raise his energy levels in the morning.

Meanwhile, in the basement workshop….

"Finished."

With that one word, Egon brought his long day's work to a halt. He laid down his screwdriver, which he had been using to make some adjustments to the new trap he had been constructing, one with increased range and efficiency. He hoped he had now cured the overheating problem that had stymied the tests that had been performed so far. He yawned and headed out through the basement and up the metal stairs. After getting ready for bed, he quietly slipped into the bedroom, where he could hear Ray and Winston snoring softly. The floating form of Slimer was visible by the ajar window, and his raspier snore was plenty audible. In the darkness, he did not notice Peter's absence. He slipped into bed, and, as per his capability, was asleep virtually instantaneously.

Egon strode down the street in the artful semi-twilight. Old-fashioned street lamps shone their warm light down in amber pools on the street, creating a comfortably beautiful scene. Egon moved hastily but confidently, a large bouquet of pretty flowers clutched in his right hand.

Yes, this would be the day. The day when he, Egon Spengler, would declare his love for Janine Melnitz for good and all. This would be his day. And hers. _Theirs._ Nothing could stop him now, and nothing would. There had been too many denials, reversals, rationalisations, excuses and back-outs. Tonight, it all stopped.

Egon brought himself to a halt in front of Janine's apartment. He looked up at the brown stonework, which seemed almost to gleam in the lamp- and moonlight. He did not feel nervous. Nervousness was for the weak, and Egon Spengler was not weak.

He walked through the door. It was unlocked for him already. He walked calmly up the stairs , reaching her second-floor apartment quickly. He opened the front door and trod lightly across the landing...and saw no Janine. Walking to the living room, he didn't see her there either. Or in the kitchen.

_A-ha,_ thought Egon, _she's in the bedroom. Seems this evening could be even better than I intended..._

He walked to the door at the other end of the short corridor. He turned the knob smoothly and stepped inside...

...Janine was there. Oh, yes she was. In the bedroom. In the BED. Naked...and wrapped around an equally naked Peter Venkman.

Egon's brain fizzed. His mouth dropped open in disbelief. Neither of them had noticed him. They were kissing, apparently lost in each other. The sight was simply unreal. Was this a joke?

Egon cleared his throat and the two lovers disengaged suddenly, jumping apart and turning to look at him. Janine was the first to speak.

"Oh...hi Egon." Her voice didn't show any shame. None at all.

"Hey, big guy," said Peter, as casually as you like. "What's up?"

Egon blinked and swallowed. The anger was swelling up inside him now and his blood was turning to lava in his veins. "What's up?" he spoke with restrained but palpable rage. "You ask what's up? I think we both know what's up." His eyes darted inadvertently towards Peter's crotch area. "At least you didn't say 'This isn't what it looks like', I'll give you that much credit."

Janine smiled. Yes, she actually smiled. "That's because this is exactly what it looks like. Peter and I are in love. Hot love."

Egon felt like he was going to faint, but somehow he remained upright. "What is this? Is this some kind of joke? Is it!?" he demanded with no small amount of wishful thinking.

Peter gave a sardonic smile. "Come on, Egon. You know you only have yourself to blame here. Ya just didn't know what you had here, did you? All those times Janine made a move on you and you never noticed? Seriously, Spengs, you don't ignore a girl like Janine in the presence of Petey Venkman himself and expect her to remain single." Janine giggled and gave Peter a kiss before transfixing Egon with a look that said 'well, what do you think of that?'

Egon teeth gritted. This was it. All sense of propriety had gone out the window. He shot forward and Peter by the throat, yanking him out of the bed. He raised his fist and attempted to bring it crashing down on Peter's nose, but Peter ducked the punch and instead it was Peter's fist that was planted in Egon's stomach. Egon almost went down, but Peter held him up, before karate chopping him in the neck and almost knocking his former friend out. Then he pulled Egon forward with all his strength and sent him crashing through the window, where he fell and landed with a sickening crunch on the stoop below.

Agony consumed Egon's body, mixing itself with the mental anguish he already felt. Upside down, through blurred vision, he saw Peter and Janine at the window above, looking down at him...literally and figuratively.

"Nice work, Peter," cooed Janine.

"Hey baby, that's what you get when you mess with Venkman." He winked at her and they kissed again.

Egon groaned miserably before the last spark of life dwindled within him and his eyes closed...

...only to open again, with a start, in his bed at the firehouse.

Egon sat up in his bed, his face zombie-like, his brain spinning, his stomach flipping over.


	3. Terminated

**Chapter 3: Terminated**

Winston Zeddemore hummed to himself contentedly as he drove down the South Shore of Long Island, revelling in the surprisingly thin traffic. It was the hottest and sunniest day yet of what had already been a hot and sunny June, and Winston smiled as he enjoyed the sight of the sun's rays spilling onto the surface of the Atlantic, glistening as bright as a magnesium flare. He kept one hand on the steering wheel and one hanging out of the open window, lazily dragging in the air ripple. He was going to meet Kaila at her apartment in Queens and then head on down to Rockaway Beach for the afternoon. He knew he had earned it – running around with a heavy proton pack on your back busting all manner of belligerent, annoying and even downright dangerous spooks tended to engender that sort of satisfaction on a down day.

Keeping track of the buildings to the left of him, Winston made a mental note: third turn from here. Then, a bleep from his car phone – something they had installed in all their cars in case they had a Big One and needed all four men – begged his immediate attention.

He picked up the receiver. "Winston here. What's up?"

"Good afternoon, Winston," came the smooth, measured tones of Egon Spengler.

"Hi, Egon. Is there trouble? Something big come up?"

"Not exactly, Winston..." said Egon, a certain ominous tone present in his voice.

Winston frowned. "Okay...well, Egon, you gonna enlighten me, or do we have to play 'Twenty Questions?'"

The older man heard Egon clear his throat. "We need to have a talk, Winston. A talk we've needed to have for some time now. Return to the firehouse immediately." The physicist's voice was taut and stern, like a disapproving headmaster's. _Something isn't right_, thought Winston.

"Look, Egon, can't this wait? Kaila's expecting me soon, and I don't want to let her down. She's been rushing to Hartford and back around the clock to see her ill grandfather recently, we don't get enough time together as it is."

"You won't need to worry about her, Winston," spoke Egon, and his tone of voice was definitely worrying him now. "Return here now and don't make this any more difficult than it has to be."

Winston sighed. "All right, but this had better be good. Life and death good." With a swing to the left and a heavy heart, he reached for the phone to break the bad news to Kaila...

Winston parked up outside Ghostbuster Central and walked in. Walking across the garage towards Janine's desk, he saw no Janine. Instead, he saw Egon sat behind the table, and seated next to him, on his left and right respectively, were Ray and Peter. The desk had been cleared of Janine's computer, file trays, phone and everything. The scene was quite, quite sinister, despite the fact that the people facing Winston were his colleagues and three closest friends.

"Ah, Winston, so good of you to join us. Please sit down." directed Egon, in the same iron tone of voice. Winston did so. "I suppose you are wondering why we have called you here."

"You can say that again, and once more for good measure," answered Winston, letting some anger flow out with his words. "You have one disappointed lady to apologise to later. That should be easy enough for you, Peter, you're had enough practice doing that." he added bitterly.

"You break my heart, Winston," said Peter Venkman. "If I were facing my bosses, I'd tone down the trash mouth myself. Or at least use classier insults."

Winston's eyes bulged. "_Bosses?_ Who do you think – "

"That's enough, you two," chided Egon. "Winston, let's get to the point without further ado." He paused. "We are terminating your employment."

Winston felt his stomach burn. "You...you're WHAT?"

"You know, terminating, firing, releasing, sacking, letting go," said Peter glibly. "How many synonyms do ya want, genius?"

"OK, guys, very funny," said Winston, in a tone that clearly indicated he found it anything but. "Any reason you had to make me cancel my date to have your so-called 'joke'?"

"Oh, this is no joke, Winston," said Ray. "And don't tell me you didn't see it coming. Especially seeing as how finances have been bad recently."

Peter nodded. "Yep, bad. No bueno. So we're having to make some hard changes."

"And that starts with you," continued Egon. "We're cutting back on unnecessary expenses. Which means you, Winston."

"What?" Winston had no idea what to say. He couldn't believe this. This was way beyond anything he'd imagined. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Peter took the question. "We're talking about YOU. Y'know, the guy with no degree."

"And the guy who can't drive worth a damn." added Ray. "I count sixty near-misses in the last three months. Stevie Wonder couldn't have done worse. D'you think it's easy getting spare parts for Ecto these days?"

"All right, and how many _actual _accidents?" retorted Winston. "None. Nada. Zip. I don't know what's got into you clowns but I suggest you quit before my patience does."

Egon was unfazed. "We're not quitting, Winston, you are. As of now."

Winston felt cold. "So, that's it? Six years of friendship, over like that, and you expect me to just walk out?"

"Uh, yes, about that, Zedd..." Peter said. "You won't exactly be walking out of here. No. You see..."

Egon adjusted his glasses. "You know too much, Winston. You know how all our equipment functions...the packs, the traps, the containment system...and you have easy access to the plans."

"Yeah," said Ray. "There are people who'd love to get their hands on the plans for our equipment. What's to stop you from selling them to some bigshot CEO?"

Peter nodded. "Or someone wanting to start a rival business. That would make you a shitload of money. A heap more than you'd earn working as a teamster for your dad for the rest of your life." he added with a nasty leer.

"And that's why we must do this," announced Egon with finality. "We can't let you go, Winston. You're a liability. While you live, our business is in danger." The three Ghostbusters suddenly raised a thrower each.

Winston's jaw dropped. "What the hell - you can't - no!"

A click and a hum went up as the three switched on. "Goodbye, Winston. No hard feelings, huh?" shot Peter with a wink. "Full streams, make it clean. Ready - aim - fire!"

Before Winston could do anything, furious golden-white energy burst from the three menacing tips and struck him full force in the chest. Winston Zeddemore gave out a final scream of agony and betrayal before his individual atoms split and went on their separate ways...leaving no evidence there had ever been a fourth Ghostbuster.

Egon shivered and ground his hands together. The last time he had felt like this was after he had taken a fall from the top of the World Trade Center, triggering the Bogeyman's re-entry into the mortal world. There was no risk of that happening this time, but Egon took no consolation. He picked up his cocoa off the kitchen side and gulped down a hot swig of the sweet liquid. The taste had no edge to it, and the glow it usually produced in his stomach was missing. _What is wrong?_ Egon thought to himself. _Even the cocoa isn't doing anything for me._

He couldn't believe Peter would betray him like that. Even so, he felt...angry. The dream had simply been all too real. The anticipation, searing blaze of betrayal and fury in his stomach and brain, the forced excursion through the window...the snap of his spine...

Clenching the cocoa mug in his hands, he tried to steel himself against the rush of thoughts that swarmed the emotional circuits of his brain, those circuits he thought he had such good control over..._Peter, Janine, Peter, Janine_...Trouble was, it made too much sense. After all, he thought to himself balefully, Peter was better looking, had more experience at the romance game, was more skilled socially….and they had that semi-flirty relationship going, the type that Egon had seen in a few movies. How could he, nerdy old Egon, compete with that?

It was then that Egon became aware of the sound of footsteps. Turning towards the door, he saw the shape of Winston emerge from the darkness into the light. The African-American took in the sight of Egon and stopped.

"What are you doing up?" he asked tersely.

Egon's brain spun, thinking of an explanation. He couldn't say he was up because of a nightmare...that wasn't him. That wasn't Egon. He was logical, and that wasn't logical. "Just been working on the trap, Winston," he said, more tightly than he would have liked. "Just...having some cocoa before I go to bed."

"Oh." Winston was staring glassy-eyed at the physicist, his features set in a very alert pose, and it only served to unnerve Egon further.

"So...why are you up?" queried Egon in the lightest tone he could fashion; in other words, not light at all.

"'Nam flashback." Winston intoned robotically, staring at Egon with that same intense glare of wariness. Then he added, without thinking, "Friendly fire incident."

Egon sipped his cocoa. "I am sorry."

"I'm sure you are." replied Winston, without the slightest hint of conviction.

The two men stared at each other.

"Well, erm, I'm going back to - I mean, to bed." announced Egon. "Good night." he said stiffly, before walking past Winston and out into the hallway. Winston didn't answer, instead simply turning to watch him disappear up the spiral stairs.

It was only then that Winston realised he was cold...colder, perhaps, than he'd felt in his entire life...

In the firehouse's basement, Ray Stantz was busy attending to the Ecto-Containment Unit. It was time for the monthly check-up and the young physicist had decided to get down to it first thing in the morning after breakfast. He whistled to the tune of an old Russian folk song he'd listened to a lot growing up at his Aunt Lois' house as he did a visual sweep over the many dials, read-outs and LEDs, occasionally twiddling a knob here and flicking a switch there. _Seems fine, so far_, he thought. He briefly stepped over to the porthole to take a brief look in. A purple three-headed ghost with yellow spots swam over and blew him a raspberry before floating off on his merry way. He then went over to the main body of the unit and looked at the switches there. All in place. Then, a beeping noise went off on the control panel.

Ray turned and stared for a brief moment. _Now what could that be?_ he thought to himself. He wandered over and straight away identified the problem: _low pressure in plasma pump three._ He switched in the back-up pump and wrote the problem down in the logbook. _Must get that changed._ Ray resumed his check of the main unit, but three seconds later another alarm started chirping. He walked back over to the control panel, and noticed that his body felt oddly heavy. Pushing that thought to the back of his mind, he saw that the back-up pump had failed. He reached over to switch the alarm off...but his hand failed to reach the button. Ray strained to reach it, but he couldn't do it. He looked down and saw the problem with a twinge of horror: his stomach was pressed up against the panel and was preventing him from stretching his arm out far enough. Ray stared in blank incomprehension. In the space of a few seconds, he had gained what must be nearly a hundred pounds...how had THAT happened?

"Ray!" Winston's voice issued from the top of the steps. "Switch that damn alarm off, will ya? I'm trying to read up here. Do you have any idea how loud that thing actually is?"

Ray felt a surge of panic. "Winston, I'm trying!" he asserted. "But - I -can't reach - the - buttons!" He reached again but he couldn't. Dear God, his body was getting bigger!

"Well, we told you to go on that diet," Winston said pointedly. "But you didn't."

Peter walked through the door and stood beside Winston. "Yeah, we've had complaints about your over-eating...from Slimer, " he said. "That's how bad it is."

A sickening crumpling sound issued from Ray as he started to expand faster and faster, getting bigger with every second. He tottered back from the control panel for fear of crushing it, nearly stumbling over. "Guys, help!" he shouted. "I think some ghost has possessed me - done something to me - help!"

Winston folded his arms. "Yeah, right. Blame it on the spooks. That won't fly with me, Stantz."

"Unless some ghost forcibly shoved five hundred burgers down his throat," cracked Peter, and he and Winston shared a chuckle.

"Gruummmpph!" Ray grunted in pain and anguish. He way now way beyond any conceivable human proportions, his head was ten feet off the ground and his body had bloated into a huge round ball. It was an utterly fearsome sight. "Get - Egon - in - here!"

"Coming, Raymond," announced Egon as he sped down the stairs. He whipped out a magnifying glass and held it up to Ray's still-expanding stomach. Egon backed away quickly before declaring to the others, "I surmise that this unforeseen event has been triggered by the consumption and metabolisation of a surfeit of comestibles of an overly lipid nature."

"And in Inglese, _Herr Professor_?" replied Venkman.

"It means that Ray's been stuffing himself silly on junk food." translated Winston.

Egon nodded. "A coarse but accurate summation, Winston."

"GUYS!" shouted Ray. "I need some help here! Fast!"

Peter had to shout back his answer. "That's what the guy working the fryer at McDonald's said when he was trying to fulfill your order, fatass!" Peter and Winston burst into giggles but Egon was more contrite.

"Gentlemen, I suggest we vacate the basement. Ray has reached critical mass. If we stay here we'll be crushed!" Egon, Peter and Winston dashed up the stairs as Ray bloated faster and faster. With a crunch, the steel stairs crumpled under Ray's left hip.

"Oh, no - the - eurgh - containment unit!" gasped Ray as the unit buckled under his weight. A gush of steam and a flash of flame went up heralding a huge explosion that made Ray scream out in pain. A second later the ceiling ruptured as the top of Ray's head connected hard before crumbling into dust. Ray only had a glimpse of Janine's vacant desk before the whole firehouse came crashing down around his ears. He scrunched his eyes shut and tried to ignore the pain as tonnes upon tonnes of masonry, mortar and steel thumped remorselessly down on top of him with a horrendous din. When he found the courage to open his eyes again, Ghostbusters Central was no more, a thick but steadily dissipating fog of dust the only remnant.

Ray then heard the sound of helicopter blades. A few moments later, Ecto-2 whirled into view through the fog curtain and flew right in close, Egon, Ray and Winston. Next to the giant balloon-hulk of Ray, it looked like a toy.

"Guys," spluttered Ray, who was nearly in tears. "You've gotta do something! I-I don't know what's happened but it's not my fault, I swear!"

"I'm sorry, Ray." said Egon, more curtly than the words demanded. "But it seems your lifestyle has jeopardised the business, perhaps permanently."

Winston nodded. "Sorry, Ray, but you had your chance."

Peter added, "Several chances. We're not called Fatbusters, y'know."

Egon reached down into the cockpit and drew out a large harpoon gun. "So we have just one choice left." He aimed the spear gun straight at what now passed for Ray's chest.

"That's insane!" squealed Ray, whose eyes were now welling up. "Please, Egon, _please_, you've gotta invent something - "

"It's for the good of the city, homeboy," said Winston. "Hey, maybe you'll come back as a ghost...you can be Slimer's friend!"

"Nuh-uh. I'm not having THEM fighting over food. It'd be World War Three." Peter objected.

"Three - " called Egon.

"NO!" pleaded Ray.

" - two - one - AWAY!" Egon fired and the gleaming point shot away and impacted with Ray's gargantuan mass. BOOM.

The whole world exploded with Technicolor shockwaves. Ray and everyone else dissolved and suddenly everything was spinning, spinning...vivid colours swirling and melting in and out of each other...and, without warning, a snarling face hove into view - yellow-green skin, sharp white teeth, and eyes that flashed with a psychotic malevolence. Ray heard a manic laughter ring in his eyes as the face got closer and closer, until he could almost see the fire in his eyes - then everything faded out and only formless blackness held sway.


End file.
